My Gabriel, Not You
by HiddenValor
Summary: In the back of his mind, Sylar knew what he wanted, but Gabriel wouldn't let him have it. SylarOC. Set during The Hard Part. Chapter 2 Up!
1. My Gabriel, not you!

A/N: This is an alternate scene for "The Hard Part," in which Sylar visits his girlfriend instead of his mother, and she's not very pleased with him. This may or may not be a one-shot; I haven't decided--just wanted to get my idea on paper before I forgot it. By the way, I don't particularly like writing/reading sexually graphic stuff, so any smut will be kept to a minimum. Don't bother to review if you're going to complain about the lack thereof, but I do welcome constructive criticism. Also, this is quite a bit darker than the usual stuff I write, so I rated it accordingly.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Heroes_. I got my idea for this story from October Petrelli's story, "The Girlfriend."

XxXxXXx

_It's me._

_I know it's been awhile, but I've been thinking about things—thinking about the future—my future._

_I know it's last minute, but if I could just come talk to you…_

_Can I come over?_

_Great._

_I'll see you soon._

Click.

XxxXxxX

There was a knock at the door. It was soft and unobtrusive, barely catching Irene's attention. She hastily set down her book once she realized she had heard the knock and went to the door, opening it just a crack. The man standing in the hallway outside was the one she had been expecting; so she shut the door, unfastened the chain-lock, and re-opened the door.

"Hi," the man said quietly. He was tall and thin with a long face and dark bushy eyebrows contrasted with a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He wore a khaki jacket and a dark blue v-neck cardigan over a blue and white plaid shirt tucked into a pair of khaki slacks. He had even parted his brown hair on the side and combed it away from his face. Irene had always known him as the nerdy kind of guy, but still cute in his own way. How they had gotten together in the first place was anyone's guess; Irene was the popular cheerleader in high school, but Gabriel was the weird kid who always ate lunch by himself.

Not that being popular back then made any difference to her now. Irene had still ended up living in a dingy little apartment in Queens, scraping up a living by waiting tables at the diner around the corner from her apartment building. Her nice looks earned her a little extra in tips, but there was nothing substantial.

Irene stepped aside, let Gabriel come in, and shut the door quietly behind him. "What do you want, Gabe?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

He looked hurt by her question. "I just wanted to see you, Irene." He reached out to her and gently touched her arm. Irene thought about flinching away, but remained still.

"_Now_? You drop off the face of the planet without so much as a goodbye and _now_ you want to see me? _Now_ you want to talk?" She scoffed and stalked to the kitchen in the left area of the apartment, grabbing a wet dishrag from the sink in the process. She began to furiously scrub the kitchen counters, wiping under the piles of papers and junk mail stacked on the bar counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Gabriel wandered all around the living room, studying the pictures sitting on the shelves opposite the kitchen. He noticed a very special picture and picked it up; it was a picture of him and Irene at the lake when they had first started dating. Her hair had been strictly brown then, but over the years she had streaked it with red and blonde. Gabriel could tell now that she had not colored her hair in a long while because her roots had grown almost halfway down her head.

She had also been very dark back then; she had tanned almost every week. Now her skin was as white as ever; she probably could not afford to tan anymore.

Gabriel also noticed how thin she looked, especially at this particular moment. Her pink tee shirt clung to her body, revealing smallish breasts and a long torso, and she seemed to have dropped a size or two in jeans. Her face also appeared much thinner than he remembered. Her cheekbones were slightly more prominent, and her nose seemed to have become more pointed.

"What are you staring at?" Irene snapped without looking up from her work. Now she was clearing the small round table in the kitchen. She had felt his eyes roaming over her body, and that made her very uncomfortable.

"Nothing," he replied. "I was just admiring your pictures." He turned back to the shelves. A small wooden pendulum clock hung next to them. "Your clock is broken. Wait, is that my father's clock?"

"Yeah, your mom gave it to me. Said it was a piece of junk but she didn't want to throw it away."

"It's not junk," Gabriel replied, slightly defensive. "It's a beautiful piece in need of attention." He pulled the clock from the wall and carried it to a small but cluttered table next to the window in the living room. He cleared a space, set the clock down, and retrieved the required tools from the cabinet beneath the shelves. After exchanging his regular eyeglasses for a pair of super-magnification glasses, he opened the clock and set to work.

Irene tossed her dishrag into the sink and leaned on the bar. A small smile found its way to her face. No matter what she told herself now, she had always loved watching Gabe at work on his clocks. From what she saw now, he has not changed much. He devoted so much attention and care to these gadgets; one would think he would show the same devotion in the other areas of his life. That was true—to a certain extent. Irene had certainly felt that to be true—at least until he had suddenly disappeared over a year ago without any word in advance.

"There," he said finally. "Good as new." He mounted the clock on its wall and stood in front of it with a smile on his face. Irene went to him and stood next to and slightly behind him; she was tall enough to barely reach his chin.

"Your mom is proud of you, you know."

There was a pause.

"I haven't done anything," he replied without turning around.

"That doesn't matter," Irene replied with a smile. "She can't stop talking about you and ranting about what a wonderful son you are."

There was another pause.

"And what do you think?" Gabriel turned around; his face was merely inches from hers. She squirmed inwardly under the pressure into her personal space and looked away.

"Are you hungry? I can make you a tuna sandwich if you'd like."

Gabriel rolled his dark brown eyes and sighed. "No, I'm not hungry." He turned back to the clock. Out of habit, Irene went to the refrigerator and took out the food needed for a tuna sandwich. She set the ingredients on the kitchen counter and began to make the sandwich. Gabriel turned around again, this time with an annoyed look on his face. "Did you even hear what I said?" He went to the kitchen and shoved a barstool with a loud thud. A spark of anger jumped into his eyes.

"What?" Irene replied defensively, a little shaken at his sudden aggressive behavior. This wasn't like the Gabriel she knew.

"You're making a tuna sandwich." His voice was soft, but Irene could tell he was upset over something—something that, most likely, had nothing to do with a tuna sandwich.

"So?"

"I asked you not to."

Irene glared at him and leaned on the counter. "This is _my_ sandwich, Gabe. The world doesn't always revolve around you." She hastily gathered the rest of the food and shoved it back into the refrigerator, slamming the fridge door afterwards. Gabriel went to her and grabbed her by the arms. This time she squirmed under his grip, but he held tighter.

"Calm down, shh," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He released her and let his arms drop to his sides. "You don't understand. I…I've had a rough day."

"And I haven't?" Irene replied with a sting of frustration. "A good day is rare for me these days." She looked down and added quietly, "Ever since you left."

There was a pause. Gabriel looked away for a moment.

"Well, I'm done leaving," he said confidently. "I'm thinking about staying."

"Thinking about it isn't good enough, Gabe." Irene pushed herself away from him and went to the sink to wash the dishes. Her tuna sandwich sat on the bar counter above the sink. "Not after what you put me through."

"I was never good enough for you, was I, Irene?" Gabriel cried. He stormed into the living room and picked up his discarded coat from the coat rack. He went to the door, but stopped when Irene called to him.

"Gabriel, wait!" She quickly dried her hands and ran to him.

"You don't understand," he said, slightly exasperated. "Why can't I just be a normal watchmaker? Is it not good enough for you if I'm just normal?"

"That's not what I meant. I…I'm sorry." She gingerly laid a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes. "I just don't want to be left alone again." Gabriel lowered his gaze. "But how would staying in Queens make you normal?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Maybe if I stay I can stop—" He paused. "Maybe I won't have to—" He looked down again. Irene was certain now that something was seriously bothering him.

"What is it?" Irene gently squeezed his arm. Gabriel shook his head.

He turned to her and smiled. His eyes seemed calmer now; Irene was very glad about that. "Is it too late for that tuna sandwich?"

Irene sighed and smiled. "No, it's perfectly all right." She led him to the bar and took a bag of potato chips out of one of the cabinets. Gabriel sat on a barstool and began to eat the sandwich. Irene set to washing the dishes again. The drone of the subway echoed faintly in the background.

"You know, Gabe," Irene said. "I've always envied you."

Gabriel swallowed the food in his mouth before answering. "I'm not that special."

"You're smart…and dedicated. Whatever you wanted to do, you did. Hell, you could even be President of the United States if you set your mind to it. You sure are smart enough for the job."

Gabriel's gaze suddenly shifted to her and then left; Irene did not seem to notice. He set down the sandwich and stood. "You always did know how to make me feel better." He went to her and started drying wet dishes. Irene glanced at him incredulously, but thought better of making a comment. She didn't want to ruin the moment. He cleared his throat and continued, "And I don't know if I could make a good president unless I had you as my First Lady."

Irene froze. If he was going to pop the question, Irene certainly wasn't ready to say yes. She steeled herself, but the question never came. Gabriel merely put the dishes away and went into the living room to grab his coat that he had dropped onto the couch. "Well, I'd better get going. Mom will be glad to see me," he said and started to slip on his coat.

"Wait."

This time, Gabriel froze. Irene dried her hands and followed him into the living room. She stood in front of him with a slightly nervous look. She cupped his cheek with her hand while she kissed the other cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment and then drew back. "I've missed you," she said quietly. A few strands of brown hair had escaped from her bun and hung in front of her face. Gabriel brushed them away and tucked them behind her ear. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her softly.

"I missed you too," he said. "I hate myself for leaving like I did."

"Well, you're back now, and that's all that matters."

Gabriel drew Irene close to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rubbed gentle circles into his back with her fingertips. "That feels nice," he whispered, his voice growing slightly husky. Irene leaned up and kissed him, this time more passionately, letting her hands travel to his chest. Desire began to spread and intensify within her, but she didn't care.

She had no idea what it was really doing to Gabriel.

He kissed her furiously, trying—desperately, almost—to control his urges. In the back of his mind, Sylar knew what he wanted, but Gabriel wouldn't let him have it. His hands traveled up and down her back, and then began creeping upwards underneath her pink shirt. She flinched away from him and gasped.

"Your hands are freezing," she whispered, but he ignored her. He grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her into another barbaric kiss; Gabriel was losing control of himself. Desire burned so hot within him that he thought he might actually blow up New York right now. He turned around and pinned Irene to the door, pressing himself as close to her as possible without crushing her ribs.

She began to moan softly, but he couldn't tell whether it was in pain or pleasure. In fact, he didn't even care. He continued to kiss her fervently. God, he wanted her—wanted to hear her whimper and beg him to stop.

Gabriel felt the last of his control slipping to Sylar.

Irene cried out and struggled in his grasp. This isn't what she wanted. Her arms and hands hurt with intense cold. She tore herself away from Gabriel's grasp and maneuvered herself into the middle of the living room. She examined her hands; her fingertips were almost blue from the cold. She looked at Gabriel, though afraid of what she might see. His hands had also paled and turned blue. His eyes and face had darkened into a sneer, sending shivers down her spine.

Irene bolted into her bedroom, locked the door, and retreated into a corner, tears streaking her cheeks. She slid down the wall into a fetal position and hugged her knees to her chest.

"Irene," Gabriel's voice wafted through her bedroom door. He tapped lightly on the door. "Please come out…I'm sorry I scared you." Irene covered her face with her hands.

Gabriel leaned heavily against the door. "Irene," he whispered; his throat began to constrict as he felt tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't sure who he was anymore—Gabriel…Sylar—he just didn't know. "I saw a vision of the future," he said into the door. "And I'm gonna kill a lot of people. Tell me why I would do that." He turned around and slid down the door so that he was sitting on the floor up against it. "Irene," he hollered and banged his head against the door several times.

"Irene!" he cried again.

Irene shook uncontrollably in her corner. She couldn't stay here; Gabriel was not himself anymore; but she had no viable escape route. Her best chance might be to just get up and walk out of the apartment. It was a foolish thought, but one's thinking is hardly clear when it's clouded by fear. She wiped her eyes and went to the door. When she opened it, she found Gabriel sitting on the floor. He got up hastily and turned to her.

Irene took a deep breath to steel herself for what she was about to do. Her voice trembled and her knees felt like they were going to buckle underneath her. "I'm leaving," she said. "And when I get back, I expect you to be gone." She pushed past him and made a bee-line for the door.

"Don't say that, Irene. It's me—Gabriel. I—"

Irene spun around and jabbed her index finger toward him. "You're not Gabriel. The Gabriel _I _know would never have tried to hurt me. Now I want _you_ out of _my_ house."

Gabriel gently grabbed her wrist. "Calm down," he whispered.

Irene struggled to get away from him. "Get away from me. Get away from me!" she cried.

"Calm down!"

Irene wrenched herself from his grip. Tears started forming in her eyes again. "I want _my_ Gabriel—the one who loves me! _My_ Gabriel, not you!"

Gabriel's chin began to quiver. He tried desperately to fight the tears back. "Irene, please, it's me; I swear…" He took a step toward her, but she backed away. "I love you, Irene. Please…"

Irene bumped into a laundry basket, grabbed a pair of large scissors on the top of the pile inside, and quickly brandished them in front of her. Gabriel reached out to try to take them, but Irene fought back and shoved the scissors forward with all of her meager upper body strength.

It wasn't enough.

Warm blood spilled over her hands. She looked at Gabriel's shocked face and then downward. The bloody scissors protruded from her abdomen, right next to her left hip. A wave of pain washed over her, causing her head to spin. She blinked several times and looked at Gabriel again. His eyes pleaded with her, begging her to forgive him. He reached out to her to catch her as she fell, but all sensation left her, and her vision suddenly went black.

XxXXxX

A/N: Should I keep going? (strokes chin thoughtfully)


	2. Coloring inside the lines

A/N: Per reviewers' request, I have decided to continue this story for a while. It is my intention to finish it, but possibly with a different pairing at the end (no slash). It is also my intention to write along with the next few episodes so I can be more accurate to the storyline, even though it may end up a little AU for originality's sake.

XxXzX

Irene slowly opened her eyes, but her vision was so blurry that she could not figure out where she was. Pain still erupted from her abdomen. She had a feeling that she was lying in an odd position, for her back was bent at an uncomfortable angle. She lifted her head and blinked a few times.

"Hello," a man's voice said. He had a very foreign accent, probably Chinese or Japanese. Irene turned her head toward the voice and found that—in fact—an Asian man was carrying her in a cradle position with his arms. His face was oval-shaped, and his hair had been spiked; it stuck out in almost every direction.

"Hi," she whispered. "Who are you?"

"I am Ando," he replied. He smiled, giving his face a childlike cuteness, and then nodded toward another person standing in front of him. "And this is Hiro. We saved you from Sylar."

Irene twisted her neck uncomfortably to see the other person—Hiro. If she thought Ando had seemed like a little kid, Hiro looked much more childlike. He appeared to be very round, especially in his face. His hair was dark like Ando's and slightly spiked. He seemed like the kind of guy who would be happy most of the time, but now his face showed otherwise. In one hand he held a sword with a black handle, but it looked as if the blade was a little too short. It wasn't until she saw his other hand clenched around another blade that she realized the sword was broken. It must have been very important to him; that must be why he was so sad.

"Thanks," she said. "Where am I?"

"Mr. Eesak's house in Manhattan," Hiro replied. It took a few seconds for Irene to figure out that he was saying "Isaac," but she still had no idea what he was talking about. She looked around and blinked to clear her vision some more. She seemed to be in some kind of art studio. Mr. Isaac must be the artist; some of his paintings, though, seemed a little too grotesque for Irene's taste. At least she was still in New York, though she should probably get out fast if Gabriel was looking for her.

Thinking of Gabriel reminded her of her wound. She put gentle pressure on it to staunch the bleeding, but gasped and pulled away at the sudden pain. Ando looked down and noticed the wound, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape.

"We need to get her to hospital," Hiro said. Ando followed Hiro to the door of the studio, still carrying Irene.

"Hiro, just use your power to get us there," Ando stated a-matter-of-factly in Japanese.

Hiro shook his head. "I can't unless I know where the hospital is."

They continued to argue in Japanese, and, needless to say, Irene had no idea what they were saying. She ignored them and focused on her wound. She had never seen so much blood in her life or been in so much pain—except for menstrual cramps. "And this was my favorite shirt too," she muttered. She began to feel light-headed from the loss of blood. "I hate to interrupt," she said through clenched teeth. "But I'm bleeding all over the place, here, and it really hurts."

"Hiro!" Ando exclaimed and gestured with his head for Hiro to do something. With an exasperated sigh, Hiro laid a hand on Ando's shoulder and scrunched his face as tightly as he could. Within a blink of an eye, the trio found themselves on a street corner; it was still very dark outside. A single streetlamp illuminated them from above.

"What the hell did you do?" Irene looked around in shock. Before Hiro could reply, she shook her head. "Never mind. We're on 5th Avenue. The hospital should be a few blocks that way." She pointed behind Ando. Hiro said something in Japanese and then broke into a jog with Ando and Irene in tow.

XxXxX

_A few hours ago…_

Patricia Barlow knelt beside the young brunette girl sitting at the small round table. The little girl was coloring a picture with a yellow crayon, a triumphant smile on her face. Her face lit up when she saw Patricia. She put down the crayon and threw her arms around Patricia's neck. "Hi, Molly," Patricia said as she embraced her. She stroked Molly's hair and smiled. "How are you today?"

"I'm great, Miss Barlow," Molly replied and picked up a blue crayon. "I'm just a little tired. How about you?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Patricia pulled up a chair and sat. She pushed her brown hair behind her shoulders and rested her elbows on the table. "What are you coloring today?"

Molly set down the crayon and held up the picture. It was a drawing of herself, the boogeyman, and another stick person between her and the boogeyman. "Who's this?" Patricia pointed to the stick figure; he was brandishing a very large sword and seemed to be wearing a suit of armor.

"He's my hero," she said proudly. "He saved me from the boogeyman."

"It's a very good drawing, Molly. You keep getting better and better."

Molly's face beamed. "I drew one of you, too, Miss Barlow." She got up and went to the corkboard on the far wall. She took a picture off of it and set it on the table in front of Patricia. In the drawing, Patricia was wearing a pink princess gown and was holding Molly's hand. Molly was dressed in a blue princess gown. There was a castle in the background, and the sun was high in the sky.

"Oh, Molly," Patricia said quietly. She smiled and tilted her head to one side. "It's beautiful."

"You can have it, if you want."

Patricia nodded, folded it into quarters, and put it in her pocket. "Thank you," she said. Molly sat down and began another picture. "Do you feel any better today, Molly?"

"I dunno," she said. She furrowed her brow in concentration as she tried to color within the lines of her drawing. "You tell me," she said with a smirk.

"All right," Patricia replied and smiled. "You're getting a little frustrated because you hate making mistakes in your drawings." She looked away and closed her eyes for a moment. "It's not your fault, Molly." She gently touched Molly's shoulder. "You're sick; that's why you can't use your ability. Don't blame yourself."

"I wish they could make me better," Molly said as she made the finishing touches on her drawing. "I hate not being able to help people like you do."

"I can't do what you do, Molly."

"So?" Molly gave her an exasperated look. "You make people feel good about themselves. I would be lonely without you around."

Out of the corner of her eye, Patricia noticed Thompson standing outside Molly's room through the glass wall separating her room from the lab. Another man was with him; he was an Indian-looking fellow dressed in khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt. They seemed to be in a heated discussion. "I'll be right back," she assured Molly and stepped out of the room. She quietly shut the door to Molly's room and went into the lab through the adjacent door.

"Ah, Miss Barlow," Thompson greeted and put on an almost-sincere smile. He went to her and touched her arm in greeting; his touch made her skin crawl. Patricia hardly remembered how she even got mixed up with this guy in the first place. If it wasn't for Molly, she would never have gotten involved with this twisted company. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." He gave her a gentle push toward the Indian man. "This is Doctor Mohinder Suresh. He's going to find a cure for Molly's condition."

Just by looking at the man, Patricia could tell that Dr. Suresh was not happy to be here. She also sensed a deep-seated resentment directed toward Thompson; she heartily agreed. She put on her best award-winning smile and extended her hand in a friendly greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Suresh. I'm Patricia Barlow, Molly's social worker."

Dr. Suresh shook her hand firmly and tried to smile. His teeth were very white. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Barlow." He carried a lovely accent, and his voice was a pleasant timbre.

"Now that that's out of the way," Thompson said. "Let's get down to business. How is Molly doing today?"

Patricia turned toward the glass wall and slipped her hands into the pockets of her black dress slacks. "Her motor skills are beginning to slip. See how she's coloring there? It's becoming harder and harder for her to color in the lines. She didn't want me to know, but she's also had several headaches today and a nose-bleed. She's also suffering from fatigue—much more than usual."

"And I'll leave you with that, Dr. Suresh." Thompson went to the other door of the lab and looked over his shoulder before leaving. "Molly is the only one who can stop Sylar." He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Dr. Suresh stood next to Patricia and crossed his arms over his chest. Patricia sense several conflicting emotions within him, threatening to tear him apart if they are not resolved. He felt drawn to Molly, like he was the only one who could save her; but he also felt guilty for helping the man who was partly responsible for his father's death.

"Chandra Suresh was your father, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. He turned to her, inquiry written all over his face. "'Barlow,'" he mused. "You are on my father's list."

"I probably am, and so is my brother Zachary," Patricia replied with a shrug. "We both have abilities, though his is a bit harder to control," she added with a smirk.

"What can you do?"

"I'm an empath."

"Then shouldn't you have become a psychiatrist?"

Patricia waved him off and huffed. "Can't stand those people."

"I take it you had a bad experience with them."

Patricia nodded and sighed. "They tried to tell me how I felt, but I knew better. Hypocrites—the whole lot of 'em." She shook her head and went to the door. "I'm going to check on Molly. You do whatever you need to do."

XxXxXx

A/N (9/22/07): So now you know how Irene was saved at the last minute. I'm really excited about this story, especially since the new season of Heroes starts in two days! Woo hoo!

BTW, the quip about psychiatrists being hypocrites does not relfect my opinions about psychology and psychiatry, so please don't take offense.


End file.
